(Back a few months ago while we were in the thick of the due process with our local school district, I wrote out my feelings in a letter to the district. Though I had full intention to post it, I kept waiting because I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. As the neighborhood schools finish off the school year and friends post about their 5th graders moving on to Jr. High, my emotions have resurfaced and I have decided what would help is finally posting this. So here it is…)

I remember when I married my husband, who is a graduate from the district, told me how our future kids will be lucky to grow up in one of the best districts in Illinois. So, when my oldest was diagnosed with autism, I sighed with relief because she lives in this district and she will get the education she needs to meet her potential.

District, I remember oh so vividly at the end of her first year of preschool her team shared with us that the district was moving to an all inclusive preschool environment and they would be blending her. I shared how I was certain she wasn’t ready for such an environment but you assured me, this will be the best thing for her. 

District, my husband and I shared our concerns with you as she went into kindergarten to a school that was having the instructional classroom for the first time with a new teacher. A school with so much experience with children with similar needs was 7 minutes away from our house, but there wasn’t room for her. So to a brand new program she went. It’s ok though, she was going to be a part of this other school and their community for 6 years and, again, you assured us, it will be just fine.

District, what do you think would have happened if a regular 2nd grade classroom had 2 different teachers in one year and then the next year 3 different teachers? Yes, that’s right, they would have shown up as a huge group at a board meeting ready to fight and they would have gotten their way. Not a little special needs classroom though that was continuously getting the short end of the stick.

To the two district administrators that promised the transitions were done for a few years. You promised us that Courtney’s needs were finally going to be of utmost importance. As I said before, shame on us for believing that you could keep such a promise. But, District, shame on you for not finding a way to give this one little girl some consistency just for once.

District, you said 4th and 5th grade will go just fine at this new school. There was no need for us to worry because Courtney doesn’t struggle with transitions. Though, again, a newer team, it’s a strong team and all will be fine!

Here we are, District, nothing has been fine. Nothing has gone well. In fact, I’m pretty sure just the opposite. That little girl that was going to be just fine in a blended room in preschool is now too severe to even be educated by your own professionals. Too severe to be included in her home district. Too severe for one of the best districts in the state of Illinois to meet her needs. Too severe to finish off elementary school with all the other 5th graders in the district.

Maybe I’m an angry parent going through that dreaded grieving process. If that’s the case, I have the right to be that parent. And yes, I’ve gone through the stages. I’ve blamed myself over and over and over again. I’ve cried. Boy have I cried. I’ve cried that maybe I should have fought harder for her. But here’s the thing…I have been fighting every step of the way for what I, as her parent, feel is best for her. The one thing she has not gotten in return is her free and appropriate public education that EVERY child has the right to from the district that should be able to provide it.

District, you failed her and you should be ashamed of yourselves. I don’t blame the teachers. I truly believe they tried their best. I blame the district administrators. I blame those who make the big decisions. I blame you, District. 

And to Courtney…you are a ray of sunshine. You are as true as they come. And no matter how hard of a day, you always find a way to make me smile.